


it's not gay if they don't come

by Penelopiad



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Denial, Hotels, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penelopiad/pseuds/Penelopiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They always wrestle for it. It’s like, tradition at this point.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not gay if they don't come

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings** : like the tags say, lots of internalized homophobia and denial, though no homophobic slurs are used. A conversation in part VI about female one-night stands could sound sexist and objectifying to some. Brief explicit descriptions of an m/f/f porno in part IV.
> 
> This story started over on tumblr with a simple prompt sent by an anon ("Well, it's not gay if they don't come, right?"). 8 parts out of 9 were posted on tumblr in the first half of this year. The last part stayed all planned out but only partly written, and completely un-posted. After deleting my hockey tumblr (and therefore this story), I decided to post the completed version here. Many people were very very nice and supportive of my stories and writing--and of this story especially--over the time I spent on tumblr, and I want to say thank you for that. I'm very grateful for all your kind words and it all means a lot to me.
> 
> It was really interesting to write this over the months, particularly as it's something I'd never really written before. I experimented a little with the style as well, aimed for something a bit different (for me). I suspect it might work for some and might not for others, but it was a lot of fun to try it out. /ramble.

 

 

** ——— I ——— **

 

 

They always wrestle for it. It’s like, tradition at this point.

Once, Sharpy asked why they didn’t just flip a coin, said it in a tone that clearly meant ‘you fucking weirdos’, because Jonny lost his balance and fell against the bedside table, breaking the lamp.

Kaner’d looked up from his phone, then, gave him a sharp, quick smile. “But where’s the fun in that?” he’d said.

And it is. Fun. 

It’s fun. It’s—

Jonny’s got Kaner pinned to the ground between their beds, his thighs jammed real tight between Jonny’s. He leans hard over him, hands on the underside of Kaner’s biceps, holding them above his head where Kaner’s holding the remote in his left hand.

“Gotcha,” Jonny says, grinning at him.

“Not yet, asshole.”

Kaner’s got this move. Jonny knows it well, but he still manages to pull it off sometimes, takes Jonny by surprise with it. Not this time.

Jonny goes down quick over him, puts weight on his hips, then moves _up_ , bending his elbows so he can press his chest on Kaner’s sternum, dick right on his abs.

He’s hard. Of course he is. They both are. 

It’s never bothered them. They wrestle all the time and they’re both 20 year old dudes. It’s to be expected, is what he means. Friction and all that.

It’s not—

It’s fun.

He likes it, that moment of stillness. Breathes into it. Keeps Kaner there, stuck under him, wet exhales over Jonny’s collarbones. He likes letting him know he’s well and truly caught by pushing with his hips even more, Kaner’s dick digging behind Jonny’s, against his ass. It’s—It’s good. To win. It’s good to win.

And it allows him to do this: a quick, light jab of his fist to Kaner’s ribs. Not to hurt, just to startle him into lowering his arms in surprise.

Jonny grabs the remote out of his hand and sits back up on Kaner’s thighs, a shiver zinging up his chest with the distance. It makes their dicks brush together, of course, it’s also expected. It always happens. 

Kaner blinks a couple times up at him, breathing hard from the effort. He closes his hands once, twice, and Jonny watches his fingers curl and uncurl, watches as they go lax again on the floor over Kaner’s head.

“I win,” Jonny says, late. He has one hand on Kaner’s chest, not really holding him down, but he still rolls his hips once to remind Kaner he can’t move yet. Rolls right into—and the heat is—

“Get off me, man.” Kaner’s voice is low, weirdly scratchy the way it always gets when they do this—fight for it—broken with… exertion, yeah. Tired out. 

Jonny flashes him a smile, the one he knows will make Kaner roll his eyes, shoves his free hand into Kaner’s face, shoving until Kaner punches him in the arm, says a muffled, “fuck off.” 

Jonny laughs, gets on his bed and sits against the pillows. He switches the TV on, flipping the channels fast and bending his knees while doing so, parting them so he can see the screen between them. 

He can hear Kaner breathe deep and slow from where he’s still lying on the floor.

It takes a while but then Kaner says, “I’m gonna take a shower first,” getting up quick, and heading straight to the bathroom. “Choose something good for once.” 

Only when he hears the water running, Jonny straightens his legs. His chub’s all visible in his taut underwear, fabric straining. He rubs hard small circles against the length of it with his fingers and cups it all in his palm. He switches the channels and keeps his hand there until he’s gone completely soft.

 

 

** ——— II ——— **

 

 

Jonny doesn’t know how it happened, but one moment he had Kaner pinned under him, and the next he was flat on his back against the pillows. He could only think of shoving the hand holding the remote behind him, but Kaner was quicker, stuck his hand in as well to wrench it from Jonny’s fingers, then pushed on his hips with his other arm to trap them there.

Jonny doesn’t move. 

He’s too loud. The A.C. kicks in, startling in the otherwise quiet room, makes him shiver, draft of cold air on his sweaty bare skin, and Jonny doesn’t move. Can’t move.

Kaner’s between his legs, wide shoulders barely brushing against the hairs on Jonny’s thighs. He’s between his spread legs. He’s—He’s got his face above Jonny’s dick. 

Jonny’s hard.

Jonny’s hard and Kaner’s wearing his snapback backward even though he’s got no shirt on, even though his mouth is close to Jonny’s dick and it’s not what it looks like.

That’s what he’d say, he thinks. If someone came in. He’d say that’s not what it looks like because it looks like Kaner’s about to suck his dick. His hard dick.

And it’s not—It’s not even _why_ he’s hard. They always— _of course_ they do. Friction and youth and—That’s not what it looks like. He’d say that. He would. Because it’s true.

Kaner’s breathing fast, too, tired from their wrestling. Jonny had him pinned good for a bit there, but Kaner hadn’t let up. He’s a quick motherfucker when he wants to be and he always thrashes, makes it difficult to seize him. He’d fought and resisted Jonny to the point where Jonny could feel the sweat on both their chests, slick and slippery, and he’d had to get low on him because he didn’t want to get kicked in the balls.

And then he was on his back, and—

He could roll his hips. Jonny gets his feet flat on the bed, and if he closed his thighs over Kaner’s shoulders he could probably throw him off balance. Or he could roll his hips up. It’d get his dick right there, right—He’d get his dick up in Kaner’s face with one sharp roll of his hips. It wouldn’t take much, Kaner’s so close and winded as fuck, not moving. It’d take him by surprise and Jonny would—He’d win. 

It’s fun. It’s good.

Jonny curls his fingers in the covers on his left, his right hand still stuck under him, at the small of his back, held firm by Kaner’s strong forearm. He digs his toes in, too, getting ready. One roll of his hips, that’s all it’s going to take. He can throw Kaner off.

Kaner makes a sound, then, high, almost a whine, almost like pain, and Jonny’s heart skips a beat in fear. He raises his head, raising himself up with his free elbow to see better, but Kaner hasn’t moved. He’s tucked his chin in and Jonny can only see the top of his head now.

That’s when Kaner lets go, too tired, maybe. Muscles burning, maybe. At least that’s what Jonny assumes because Kaner goes _down_ quick, flattens on the bed with a punched out throaty noise, mostly muffled because his face is right in the crease of Jonny’s thigh. And it’s—It’s Kaner’s mouth breathing wet and warm through Jonny’s underwear. It’s Jonny’s dick rubbing his cheek, the side of his head, his ear.

The snapback’s half off and Jonny can see the sweaty strands of Kaner’s hair, how they stick to his skin, flattened and snug-tight-hot between Jonny’s legs, against his—

Jonny’s dick twitches, and he has to look away. The hotel ceiling has no crack in it. There’s a crack in Jonny’s ceiling in his condo, above his bed. He stares at it sometimes when he—when—

Kaner knows it’s not what it looks like when Jonny’s dick does that. 

“You win,” Jonny says, and cringes at the jagged sound. The ceiling is so smooth, practically perfect.

Kaner takes a deep, long breath. Jonny can’t see it, but he feels it over his balls, hears the harsh watery sound of it and how long it lasts, like Kaner’s lungs were empty. Like he was holding it in for too long. Like a gasp, too.

“Damn right, I win.” When Jonny glances back, Kaner’s on his knees, avoiding his eyes and turning the remote between his fingers. He hadn’t realized he had moved. The spot in the crease of his thigh is still hot, burning with the weight that used to be there. 

Jonny shoves him in the chest with his foot. “Fuck off.”

Kaner throws his snapback on his own bed before getting up, standing mostly naked between their beds still playing with the remote, his chub tenting his boxers, head of it about to poke out of the elastic. 

He looks ridiculous. Really fucking stupid.

“Put something on, Jesus,” Jonny says. There’s a wet spot in the fabric of his briefs where Kaner’s mouth was and it sticks to his skin.

“Just savouring the moment.” Kaner shoots him a quick grin before settling himself on his own bed and turning the TV on. He doesn’t even switch channels. 

It’s old Looney Tunes. Jonny watches the Coyote die. He sticks his free hand behind his back beside the other, slides them under his ass. His dick’s still hard, but it’s okay. It’ll go away. 

Kaner’s real still on his bed too. Fuck, they really tired themselves out. 

The Coyote dies again. What a fucking moron.

 

 

** ——— III ——— **

 

 

Jonny’s stuck on all fours.

It’s hard to keep his balance on the bed with Kaner heavy on his back, but he manages not to be overturned by widening his knees and dropping his shoulders, making it difficult for Kaner to get to the remote Jonny’s holding under himself. 

Kaner tries to climb higher on Jonny, to reach over his shoulder, face smushed to Jonny’s neck, gasping quick hot breaths over Jonny’s skin.

“Gross, you fucker,” Jonny says, and tries to move Kaner’s face with a jab of his shoulder. 

“Give me the remote and I’ll move,” Kaner says, choppy and winded. His lips are wet on Jonny’s ear, and he shivers. Ugh, it’s so—gross. Just gross.

Jonny drops his head and shoulders even more, pushing back with his ass to try and move Kaner off. Pushing back on Kaner’s—on his—But Kaner only wraps an arm around Jonny’s chest. It’s strong and solid over his ribcage except for his fingers slipping in the sweat, nails digging in.

“Get off.” Jonny gives a sudden, hard shove that—does nothing. Only forces Kaner to roll his hips up to stay in place, rubbing his hard dick right in the groove of his ass.

He does it again.

Kaner’s hand slips over his skin as he chokes out a, “F—fuck,” and he has to give up on trying to get the remote under Jonny to steady himself with a hand on the bed, dropping his forehead between Jonny’s shoulder blades. 

Jonny leans the top of his head on the bed, and cracks his eyes open. In the gloom of the space under his body he can see Kaner’s thick forearm across his chest, his wide hand over Jonny’s ribs, his thumb right next to his nipple, and Jonny—he wants—

Past that it’s the bulge of his dick in his underwear and Kaner’s knees and thighs between Jonny’s. It’s weird, to see it all like that. It’s kinda soothing too, Kaner all along him, breathing as fast as him, like they’ve just gone for a run, Kaner’s chest sticking to Jonny with sweat.

Jonny moves again, gentle this time, arching his back to make space between them, to feel cool air on his skin, to see Kaner’s thumb move up, make him press in—

“Ugh, motherfucker!” Kaner says with sudden quick little punches to Jonny’s ribcage, using the hand not wrapped around Jonny. “Just fucking give it to me. Just—”

He gives a hard thrust of his hips and thighs that almost sends Jonny toppling forward, which he thinks might have been the point since Kaner keeps doing it. Jonny leans on his left elbow and gets his right hand on the headboard in front of him to resist Kaner’s efforts. Like hell he’s going to let him win after all this.

“You fucking—Jesus Christ. Fucking brick wall. Just—Jonny, come on.” Kaner’s voice is muffled and cracks and Jonny closes his eyes against it, even if that does nothing. That’s stupid. That’s—That’s Kaner’s dick rubbing off on Jonny’s ass.

Jonny gives a shake of his shoulders, fingers of his left hand squeezing the remote. Sweat runs down his cheeks and Kaner keeps shoving at him, keeps shoving his—keeps trying to make him fall.

“I hate you,” Kaner says on a whine, and Jonny’s eyes pop open because he—Kaner just—

Then the weight of his body is gone and a second later he’s dropping beside Jonny. Jonny turns his head to look at him, at his face all red and sweaty and twisted ugly.

Kaner makes another grimace. “Sorry, I—”

Jonny knows what he’d see past Kaner’s wide chest, all flushed and shiny. Past his always-hard pink nipples. Past his abs to—to his softening dick and his come-sticky boxers. Maybe the head of his dick would be poking out, maybe he’d have come on his stomach, maybe—

Jonny closes his eyes. He lowers himself to the bed, realising his ass was still sticking up and how stupid that’d look without Kaner there. Like he’d want—It’d look dumb.

“Fuck, man. I’m so—”

“I hope you’re good with that tongue of yours,” Jonny says, not thinking.

“What?”

He peers at Kaner who’s now staring at the ceiling, his face still all weird. Jonny wants to shove his hand over it to make it go away. Fuck, he looks stupid.

“Hope you’re good with something else if that’s all it takes for you to bust your nut. Just a bit of friction and boom, off you go.”

Kaner gives a squawk of indignation and turns fast on his side to punch Jonny on the shoulder. “Fuck you. And yeah, chicks fucking dig it, man.” He wiggles his tongue in Jonny’s face, and Jonny punches him in the shoulder. 

“Master pussy-eater, eh?”

“They wanna ride it for sure,” Kaner says, waggling his eyebrows.

Jonny snorts. “Well, better that than your dick, it seems.”

“Oh my god.” Kaner brushes wet hair out of his eyes, face twisting again. One curl sticks to his cheekbone, follows the line of the bone. It makes Jonny fist the comforter while Kaner just keeps yammering, “—I bet you think all you have to do is stick it inside and bang around like the asshole you are.” 

It’s loud, and it echoes in the room, like it’s bigger and emptier than it is.

“I can get pussy whenever I want,” Kaner says, softer, kind of lost. Jonny closes his eyes again.

“Sure, buddy.” Jonny blindly pats Kaner’s stomach. Right in the jizz. 

Kaner takes a sharp breath and gets up. “Whatever. I’m gonna shower. No fucking fishing shows this time, I swear to god.”

Jonny doesn’t see but hears the door of the bathroom close. 

His fingers are sticky. He brings them closer to his face to take a good look, clenches his fist, then opens it wide to hear the slick-gummy sound it makes. He rubs the come in with the pad of his thumb over his fingertips. Sticks his tongue out and—

And wipes his hand on the bed covers. 

He rolls his palm over it, but it’s hard to get to the stuff in between his fingers, so he tugs on the comforter to get at the corner and cleans it all up proper. Then he gets up to change his underwear. They’re sticking to his ass where Kaner jizzed and that’s just gross, man. That’s not—

There’s come drying on his back. He feels it pull at his skin when he puts his shirt on. That’s also—Whatever. He’ll wash it later.

 

 

** ——— IV ——— **

 

 

Kaner’s mouth is warm on the outside of Jonny’s thigh where he’s leaning his forehead, panting hard and fast.

“I win,” he says, swallows and licks his lips, so close Jonny feels it on his skin.

Jonny’s focused on the space between his bent knees—fist-width. He holds his breath, widens his legs. Two fists wide. Kaner wipes his forehead on Jonny’s thigh. A head wide, now, maybe. In the next room Duncs yells something at the TV and Kaner snorts a tired laugh. Large shoulders could fit between Jonny’s knees. A whole perso—

“Stop moving, asshole.” Kaner punches Jonny’s calf lightly. “I’m dying here. This shit is like an extra workout.”

“Wouldn’t be if you just let me have the fucking remote,” Jonny says. He closes his legs. His balls are uncomfortably squeezed, his dick is almost out of his underwear, the bulge of it obvious like this, with his legs hitching it up.

Kaner closes his eyes, lashes brushing the hairs on Jonny’s leg. Jonny slips a finger between his thighs and tugs up on his balls, adjusts his dick. It feels—It’s more comfortable. He uses his thumb to push the head back inside the elastic, presses on it just to—Kaner takes a sudden deep breath through his nose and Jonny moves his hand to his abs, wipes the precome off his thumb onto his skin.

“Okay, let’s see.” Kaner turns on his side to switch the TV on but keeps his head leaning on Jonny. The back of his neck is red and clammy, hair curling and dark with sweat. He needs a haircut. “This shit is so bad, oh my god,” he says, laughing, and Jonny focuses back on the screen. It’s one of those shitty soft-porn b-movies. Must be old too, the guy has a mullet. He’s fucking the woman as she holds on to the bedpost, her tits bouncing to the beat of some fucking awful music.

Kaner cackles and shifts his hips, rolls over so the back of his shoulder is leaning more on Jonny’s leg. From this point of view, Jonny can see—

“This shit is so bad, man,” Kaner says again, spent. “They never ever show her pussy, you know?”

—his dick, all thick and hard and one move away from popping right out of the slit in Kaner’s boxers. 

“Then get your laptop out, loser,” he says. Swallows. Breathes. Watches as Kaner goes stiff for a moment, then turns to peek at Jonny.

“Yeah?”

Jonny shrugs. He’s watched porn with TJ a couple times before. It’s cool. It’s—“Sure, buddy.”

Kaner rolls his eyes, headbutts Jonny’s knee a couple times, then slides down the bed to grab his laptop from the desk. The move has the left side of his boxers riding up into his butt crack exposing the lower part of his ass—white as fuck and round and—

Kaner’s back on the bed quickly, right where he was since Jonny hasn’t moved. He places the laptop so they can both see it and opens his browser, goes to his bookmarks, clicks on his favourites.

“Wait,” he says, sitting up straighter and turning the screen away from Jonny. He bites his lower lip then flicks his eyes up at Jonny then back at his screen. “What d’you want?”

Jonny shrugs again. His shoulder twinges and makes a dull sound when it hits the headboard. “Whatever.” He does it again, like a spasm. 

Kaner pulls up a threesome. It’s cheesy but the two chicks are hot, and Kaner has the decency of skipping the boring parts so that when he settles himself against Jonny’s leg again everyone’s naked and the guy has a girl in his lap and a nipple in his mouth while the other girl’s watching them, fingering herself. 

It’s sort of easy, then, to just slide his hand down his stomach over his dick once more, except now he presses on the whole length of it, feels it fill up again under his fingers, feels the heat right there, low in his core. 

Kaner shifts and Jonny covers his dick fast, keeps his hand there until Kaner’s settled again. He uses his thumb to rub the side of it, small hard circles at to the base while he grinds the head against his stomach with the heel of his hand.

Moving his arm makes the leg where Kaner’s leaning move as well and Jonny doesn’t want—he goes at it with more intent, kneads with his whole palm just a little, just to feel it. Something short and hard from his elbow, muscles in his forearm and wrist all rigid. 

He has to turn his head to see the screen properly and from the corner of his eye he can see Kaner, can see him—his hand. Between his legs. Jonny thinks he’s slid his fingers inside the slit in his boxers, like he’s playing with his balls maybe.

On screen the man’s got one of the girls on all fours, fucking her from behind real slow, fingers in her hair, the other girl under them, licking at the first girl’s clit and playing with the dude’s balls and Kaner’s moving his hand inside, maybe, to the wrist, and the dude is taking his dick out, slipping it in the mouth of the girl that’s on her back and Kaner’s hips roll up, his head and shoulder pushing on Jonny’s leg. The girls moan, high-pitched and so rote Jonny can practically hear the hours of work behind the sound. Practiced and repeated, just like a hockey drill, like the way Kaner knows how to move his hands, his wrists, to get it just right.

Jonny curls his fingers under his balls and squeezes. 

He’s not the biggest guy around, he knows, but he likes the way he can cover most of himself with his hand, can take it all and push against it. He could come so easy like that, grinding up, if only he could thrust, make it good the way he knows how. If only Kaner wasn’t—

“Fuck,” Kaner says, more an exhale than a sound.

On screen the camera’s gone real close to the dude’s dick fucking into one of the pussies. So close they can see how wet and shiny she is, how red, too, how thick the dude’s dick is inside of her, his taint and his asshole, his balls bouncing at each thrust, and Kaner’s widening his legs, knee knocking the side of the laptop.

He must be thick right now, must be thick and hard and—must be all red and full and warm, the head of his dick all flushed, all slick at the slit, all—

“Is that my phone?” Jonny says, loud and too close to the strident sounds of the girls on screen, it feels.

He gets up, hears Kaner falling back on the bed but doesn’t turn, legs stiff and skin prickling with heat and sweat. He grabs his phone from his jeans pocket and brings it to his ear, says “Allo, maman,” to no one and walks into the bathroom.

Things are quieter once he’s closed the door, but he can still hear the _ah-ah-ahs_ coming from Kaner’s porn. He drops his phone on the counter and it echoes on the ceramic. 

Kaner raises the volume on the laptop. Jonny can hear the man grunt, hear the _yes yes yes yes_ of the girls, the _fuck my tight pussy_ , the—maybe Kaner’s got his dick in his hand, maybe he’s got his other hand on his balls, reaching behind with a finger—

Yeah, he bets Kaner couldn’t resist taking his dick out. He bets he’s all wet like the girls on screen, might have come already, fast like he did before, all over his—

Jonny grabs at the sink and stares at the faucet, at his image all distorted and stretched.

 

 

** ——— V ——— **

 

 

Kaner’s really hard to hold down. Even with his wide shoulders and thick chest he’s slippery and has no qualms about using his elbows and heels. So to win, Jonny’s gotta squeeze _tight_ , gotta make sure Kaner can’t move. Trap him good.

He’s got his arms around Kaner’s chest, pinning those elbows to Kaner’s sides, and a leg over his hip and thigh. Kaner thrashes backward, but Jonny doesn’t let up, hooks his fingers on Kaner’s shoulder for a better grip, his whole arm across Kaner’s pecs, his face pressed into Kaner’s neck. He feels Kaner swallow under his thumb.

Jonny rolls over him, takes them from their sides so that he’s half on Kaner, puts his weight there, trapping Kaner’s left arm between his body and the bed. He uses his thigh to make sure Kaner can’t spread his legs for leverage, can’t kick at Jonny’s shins.

The back of Kaner’s neck is sweaty. It smells… nice. Good.

Jonny knows when Kaner gives up, stops fighting and lets out a long exhale. He goes limp. As limp as he can with how tight and constricted Jonny’s holding him anyway. 

Kaner breathes in deep, and on the next exhale Jonny breathes out with him, lips close to brushing the skin of Kaner’s shoulder. 

Kaner’s firm and warm in his arms, the width and thickness of him a stretch in Jonny’s shoulders as he holds him. His back muscles shift against Jonny’s chest. 

With his leg over him like that, Jonny’s dick is right behind Kaner’s ass, snug under the curve of it. It’d be easy, if they were naked—if they were—To fuck, there. Between Kaner’s thighs. If they were—easy. But not like. That.

Jonny rubs his forehead on the back of Kaner’s neck, above the knob of his spine. He opens his mouth, closes it around air, pushes his tongue behind his teeth.

Kaner breathes in. Jonny does, too.

One of Jonny’s hands is wide over Kaner’s breastbone, holding him there, fast heartbeat in Jonny’s palm. Kaner moves, twists his hips, bends his right arm at the elbow, and Jonny squeezes harder, buries his face into Kaner’s neck and—Kaner’s got this move. Jonny’s not gonna let him use it.

Gotta hold tight.

He’s startled when he feels them, Kaner’s fingers on his wrist. It’s a light touch and Jonny’s hand twitches, but he keeps it there still, wide and strong. It’s nothing though, Kaner just slides his fingertips over the back of it, up and down. Up and down. Circles Jonny’s wrist, brushes his thumb across the side, breathes in, breathes out.

Kaner’s neck smells so good.

Mid-afternoon sun comes through the windows at Jonny’s back and makes him sweat even more—the itchy, prickly kind of sweating. He doesn’t move, though. Kaner’s warmer. Light falls on his shoulder, and when Jonny opens his eyes he counts three small moles, some freckles.

Someone in the hall slams a door. Kaner’s fingers move up and down, up and down, then circles his wrist again.

Between two heartbeats, Jonny slides his right hand over Kaner’s solar plexus, to his abs, and just below Kaner’s bellybutton. 

Kaner’s hard. Of course he is. He always is. And Jonny could just—slide his hand. Down. Slide it under the band of his boxers and—and close it on his dick. He could jerk Kaner like that, while holding him, with Kaner’s ass just where it’s good. Jonny could rub one out right there, rough and snug into the groove of Kaner’s thighs with his fingers on Kaner—around his—dick. With his other arm holding him like this, fitting so well, it feels. So good. He would make Kaner lick Jonny’s palm, wrap it around him, slick him up, take him apart and thrust against him and make him cry out, make him beg, make him want—everything. Jonny. Jonny could—

“—Jonny!”

Jonny gasps, opens his eyes. His hand is a fist on Kaner’s stomach and Kaner’s tugging at Jonny’s wrist.

“Let go, Jonny. You win, okay? You win. Let me go.”

The cold and emptiness against his front when he lets himself fall on his back make him clench his jaw too hard, teeth sliding together in that terrible way he hates. 

He’s got sun on his face and a weight in his chest. He can’t swallow, spit pooling in his mouth, throat sealed up.

“You win,” Kaner says again beside him, but Jonny barely hears him. He needs to—He gets up. The carpet is rough under his feet.

“Be right back,” he says, not turning around. His voice sounds normal. “Don’t fucking think you can choose, asshole.”

He doesn’t turn the light on in the bathroom. He can see himself move in the mirror—out the corner of his eye as he locks the door—by the small orange nightlight plugged in the socket above the counter. Jonny pulls it out. 

He scrambles in the dark until he finds the faucet and splashes his face with cold water, then on his chest where he can still—where it’s still warm. Somehow. When he reaches to adjust himself, his dick’s already soft.

When he comes out, Kaner’s put a shirt on. He’s standing in front of the TV and Jonny watches as he picks up the remote laying on top where it was left by room service.

Kaner turns the remote in his hands, head down. He looks smaller than he felt when Jonny held him..

Jonny walks up to him, stands close, and puts his hand on Kaner’s shoulder. Kaner turns his head a little, but otherwise doesn’t react. Jonny changes his grip to the side, squeezes Kaner’s deltoids, grabs at his triceps, then biceps, feels them tighten for a moment until he lets go, runs his fingertips on the soft skin inside Kaner’s elbow. Kaner’s forearm is hard, strong, but his wrist is lax, and it’s easy for Jonny to turn it around until Kaner’s hand is facing up, his fingers loosely holding the remote. 

The sun hits the top of Kaner’s head and he still needs a fucking haircut. 

Jonny takes the remote from Kaner and sits at the foot of his own bed. The Price Is Right is on.

Kaner sits on his bed and they watch the show in silence, but it’s not long before Kaner stands up again and comes to sit beside Jonny. He sits close, not touching but—close. Enough that Jonny could just lean into him, give in to the pull of it. Instead, he leans on his elbows, stretches his legs out. They can barely see through the glare on the screen.

“$346,” Kaner says.

Jonny snorts. Kaner always overbids. So of course he says, “One dollar.” 

And wins again.

 

 

** ——— VI ——— **

 

 

“It was fucking prime, man. She was—”

Jonny tenses up, quick and sudden. Not fucking this again. He can’t—Jonny’s not really interested in hearing more about the sweetest pussy Kaner’s ever stuck his dick in. He doesn’t fucking care about her—

“—tits, man. Perfect. Like, not huge, but they just fit in my hands. And her nipples, fuck, I never wanted to stop sucking on them.”

He won’t shut up about it, Jesus. Two hours of this bullshit, like Kaner’s never fucked a girl before, like this is his first time getting his dick wet and he got lucky enough to do it with a goddamn porn star who could deepthroat him. Every time he opens his mouth, Jonny wonders if it’s going to be round four hundred of how much Kaner loves fucking pussy. How much Kaner loves women. Women are awesome, Jonny, eh?

Jonny wants to punch him in the face so he’ll shut up about it. Then he won’t have to—

Jonny sits on the edge of his bed and kicks off his shoes and socks. She rode Kaner with her hands flat on his pecs, taking his dick so good. Jonny takes off his jacket, unbuttons his shirt. Kaner fucked her from behind. 

“What about yours?”

Jonny stops unbuckling his belt. “What?”

He’s not looking at Kaner, eyes on his own bare toes instead, sunk into the plush carpet, but he can see where Kaner drops his undershirt on the floor. 

Of course Kaner makes him go there. Making him… think. He always has to fucking push. He can never leave it the fuck alone. 

“The girl, man. I saw you leave with her,” Kaner says over the sound of his pants being unzipped. It’s nails on a chalkboard. 

The sides of the belt buckle dig in his palms. His shoulders and neck are cramped when he glances at Kaner—shirtless, skin still pink from the exertion, from his shower. Jonny feels the flush on his own skin before he can even—so fast and so, so easy. Fuck Kaner. Seriously. Fuck. Him.

“She was great, man,” Jonny says, fingers moving on his belt, pulling it out. He leaves it on the floor beside his shoes. “Really hot. Into it like crazy.” It’s no lie. She had been. The thought of the way she came, the way she’d moved under him, it—it _does_ get to him. He just doesn’t feel like getting into it _right now_. With Kaner. Treating Jonny like he’s too stupid to realize.

“Cool,” Kaner says. “But you.” He stops and Jonny has to look at him then, where he stands beside his own bed with no shirt and undone pants. Kaner’s frowning at him, takes a step forward. “She was hot, man. You—it was good, right?” 

“Fucking prime,” Jonny says, forcing a smile. He grabs the edge of the bed until his fingers hurt, curls his toes in the carpet. “You saw how small she was, right?” Kaner nods at him, but he’s not smiling anymore. “Deceptive as fuck, man. She rode my dick like a pro for fucking ever. Just. Real tight and wet, you know? Nothing fragile about her. Fucking tireless. Up and down on my dick, never letting up.”

Kaner swallows and Jonny tightens his fingers on the mattress, heart hammering in his throat. Kaner’s mouth parts, spit-shiny, and he licks his lips and Jonny wants to… hit him.

“You, uh. You like that, huh?” Kaner says, glancing up at Jonny. His eyes are weirdly dark in the yellow light of the room.

“Yeah, Kaner.” Jonny doesn’t recognise his voice, can barely hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. “Yeah. I _love_ that.”

There’s an ugly, sharply satisfied twist in Jonny’s gut at that. At the way Kaner pinches his lips together and turns aside. At his little aborted hand-movement toward his crotch. Jonny’s tempted to ask him if that’s what he wanted to hear, if he’s all _reassured_ , now.

He just wants this to end.

“Just so you know,” Kaner says, “there will be no fucking National Geographic channel tonight.”

Kaner’s by the TV in his boxers, pants off somewhere, fresh bruise on his left side and hair curling and still damp from his shower, flattened by the beanie he wore outside. He holds the remote up so Jonny can see it and shakes it.

Kaner changes gears fast. Always has. And normally, Jonny’s right there with him without missing a beat. Not this time. The one-eighty is like being boarded from behind.

Jonny doesn’t know what Kaner’s hoping to achieve here. If he’s aiming for some kind of normalcy or whatever. He doesn’t want to know. Jonny can’t—He _won’t_. If they do then it’s gonna happen again, and it’s going—he’ll have to—fuck this shit.

Jonny can smell the soap on Kaner’s skin from here.

He moves his hands from the bed to his pants, fingers on the button, clears his throat, closes his eyes and says, “Have at it, man. I’m too tired tonight,” as normal as he can. He’s vibrating under his skin. He doesn’t want this. They both know what’s gonna happen. 

He doesn’t—

Kaner snorts, rolls his eyes, holds the remote between two fingers. “Oh, come on, you’ve never let me have it this easily.”

“First time for everything,” Jonny says, and pulls his undershirt out of his pants, curls his fingers around the hem, but then changes his mind, keeps it on. He wipes his palms on his thighs.

Kaner watches him, confused, long enough Jonny starts to wonder if he spoke out loud or just thought it. And he’s about to say it again when Kaner breaks the eye-contact, hand coming up to rub over his bicep, other arm going over his stomach while he frowns at the floor. “Fuck off,” he says, then, harsh enough it startles Jonny. 

“Seriously?”

Kaner’s always been quick, too. And with two steps he’s right in front of Jonny, shoving at his shoulder. “Too chicken-shit, is that it?” His face twists all ugly and there’s an edge to him that Jonny can’t—something frantic. “Just giving in. Just like that.”

“What the fuck do you want, Kaner?” Jonny says between his teeth, with his hands still on his thighs and Kaner’s fist bumping his shoulder, Jonny letting him, letting him, letting—Kaner always has to fucking _push_. 

Kaner stops. Looks at Jonny with wide eyes. Then he smiles, quick, gets even closer, knee going up on the mattress between Jonny’s thighs, forcing him to scoot back so it doesn’t crush his balls. He shoves him again.

Jonny could punch him. He wants to, but.

Kaner smells of soap. This close, it’s—Jonny tightens his grip on his pants. Kaner’s fingers dig into the tense muscles of his shoulder and Jonny could just… lean in. Breathe. Hold.

Kaner’s so close, straddling Jonny’s thigh and Jonny would only have to raise his leg a little, get right in there so Kaner can ride it.

Jonny can’t—This is why he didn’t want to do this. Because now he’s letting go of his pants and raising his hands to Kaner’s hips to show him. Show him where to go. Drag him close. With his thumbs sweeping along his sides. Leaning in to smell, bury himself in—

His nose has barely brushed Kaner’s sternum when Kaner’s steps back. So fast and abrupt he’s stumbling into the desk chair, scrambling at the desk to stay upright. Panting hard and looking wild and the loss is a red hot wave under his skin, flash of heat behind his eyes.

“Fucking stop it, now,” he says. 

His chest aches and he thinks he needs to get out, get some air, but Kaner beats him to it. He says, “whatever,” mumbled and pissy like he has a reason to, grabbing his jeans left on his bed earlier. 

Jonny wants to call him out on it. It’s his fault. He pushed it.

Kaner gets dressed and basically runs out the door and Jonny doesn’t stop him, just lets himself fall on his back as soon as the door closes. He hears Kaner yell something down the corridor.

Someone bangs on the wall behind him, and Sharpy yells, “Just fucking flip a coin for it, Jesus Christ.”

Jonny flips off the wall.

He’s still breathing too fast when he unzips his pants, button still fastened, and slips fingers in past his fly to rub at the sticky spot there, on his underwear. At the hard, leaky head of his dick.

 

 

** ——— VII ——— **

 

 

“Heads.”

Kaner chooses heads every single time—Jonny doesn’t know why he asks anymore—and when the coin lands on it, Jonny just rolls his eyes and throws the remote on Kaner’s bed.

He settles himself on the pillows piled high against the headboard, the crisp coolness of the freshly washed hotel sheets sliding over his bare back. He pulls on the leg of his underwear where it bunched up into the crease of his thigh, crosses his ankles, scratches his stomach. Waits.

Kaner’s gotta get changed first. In the bathroom. Like he thinks Jonny’s gonna—something. Or not. Or whatever. Jonny doesn’t know what the fuck Kaner thinks.

But it’s easier when he doesn’t see him—when Kaner’s closed the door behind him with a soft click—easier to imagine getting up from his bed to go to the door, to knock on it with his knuckles and—

—open the door before Kaner can tell him to fuck off, catch Kaner as he’s taking off his shirt, getting caught in it in his surprise, then take two steps and help him out. When done, when Kaner’s shirt has fallen to the floor of the bathroom, when they’re almost chest to chest, crowd him against the counter, close the gap, slip his leg between Kaner’s and roll his hips. Or—

—open the door and ignore Kaner’s pissy face, get right to it, on his knees on the ceramic, fingers tugging on Kaner’s boxers until they slide down his thighs. Face to face with Kaner’s hard dick or maybe—

—open the door and drag Kaner out of the bathroom, drag him onto the bed, over him, heavy and solid and naked, or even—

Kaner comes out of the bathroom, burping loud and gross, hitting his shirt-covered chest with the side of his fist, and Jonny goes uncomfortable all over, a lightning-fast bolt of prickly jitters under his skin that makes his left leg jerk.

“That fucking steak, man,” Kaner says as he sits in the middle of his bed, half on the remote before fishing it out from under his ass and turning the TV on. 

Jonny can’t stop staring. Tries to—think. Get up and go over there to wrestle the remote out of Kaner’s hands, put it on the bedside table, out of reach, while Kaner squirms under him and—and—

Fuck.

Jonny can’t. It’s not. He _won’t_. 

Kaner glances at him, a quick little side-eye, but it’s enough to make Jonny turn/ fast to the TV, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. Maybe that’s true. Maybe.

He’s thinking about the way the muscles in Kaner’s arms move as he leans back on his hands before he realizes he’s looking again. Kaner stretches his legs out, spreads them a little and it would be so easy for Jonny to slide between them, on his stomach, to—with his—on his—

 _Fuck_.

Kaner turns his head and Jonny looks at his knees, back to the TV, back to Kaner. He can’t stop. Thinking. Looking. He’s so hot he can feel himself sweat into the pillows at his back.

It’s the uncomfortable kind of sweat, and Jonny spreads his fingers on the covers at his sides to stop himself from moving. He doesn’t want to draw attention, doesn’t want Kaner to see.

He’s half-hard and he shouldn’t be. They’re not even touching.

Kaner bites his lip, and Jonny watches him fidget, close his legs, cross them, lean forward again. Pay attention to the Amazing Race, but also—

—catching Jonny looking at him. Again.

Jonny feels winded, not like he’s been training too hard, but like he can’t quite get enough air in his lungs.

Kaner scratches his side and Jonny thinks he knows that spot, has put his hand over it while they wrestled and he knows how it feels under his hand. He knows a lot of spots like that.

He sees it in his mind, how he could leap out of the bed and tackle Kaner before he has time to react. Sitting as he is, he would be awkwardly crushed under Jonny’s body, and all Jonny would have to do is reach a hand under him where his right arm would be stuck to snatch the remote. All before Kaner has time to kick back, probably. It would be—good. To do that. To win that way.

Their eyes meet again and Kaner snorts, shakes his head.

This is ridiculous. Jonny tries to focus on the TV.

When he turns his head, Kaner’s already looking at him and this time he’s not shifting away. It’s a goddamn staring contest, and Jonny can’t even read Kaner’s face—just steady and not angry or teasing, quick little glances at Jonny’s dick. Bulge. Whatever.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Jonny says, fast, like it’s been punched out of him, shorter than he wanted. He raises his leg to hide it, but then lowers it because fuck this shit. Fuck it. 

“Amazing Race is really doing it for you, huh?” Kaner says, and Jonny knows an out when he sees one but—

“No,” he says, serious, and looks back at Kaner, gripping on to the covers.

He shouldn’t.

Kaner’s eyes widen.

“Shit,” he says, springing off his bed. He’s slamming the door to the bathroom before Jonny knows what’s happening. There’s a loud thud against it, rattling the frame, and then Kaner’s opening it again. Hard enough Jonny hears it bang against the counter and he has the nonsensical thought that he hopes Kaner didn’t damage the door.

Kaner stops dead in his tracks, right in the middle of the room and cringes.

“What the fuck, Kaner?” Jonny slowly sits up straighter.

For a second, Kaner appears like he’s ready to go again, and Jonny’s already throwing a leg off the bed when Kaner lets out a loud breath between his teeth, rolls his eyes and waves a hand, all dismissive about it. 

“Jesus,” Jonny says, muscles in his legs still bunched up.

“Oh, fucking don’t give me that look,” Kaner says, making a face. “You’re the one who—You—You fucking started it, man.”

Jonny’s not sure what he’s talking about, this right now or… before. At the beginning. 

It must show on his face because Kaner says, “Ugh,” sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands. “I hate you so much.”

“Okay?” Jonny says, confused. 

On TV, one of the teams is celebrating. Jonny feels like shouting at them to shut up.

“It’s boring, you know?” Kaner says, cutting through the heavy silence between them and raising his head to lean his chin on his hands.

“What?”

“The—coin flipping. It’s boring.”

Well, yeah. But that’s not why they stopped. Kaner knows why. Jonny swallows, tracks the way Kaner blinks, licks at his lips, the way he does when he’s turning a thought in his head.

“It’s too easy,” he continues, eyes fixed onto nothing in front of him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jonny says nothing, careful about drawing his legs up toward himself, but Kaner isn’t following the movement, isn’t paying attention to that anymore.

“Maybe,” he starts, then turns around to grab the remote left on the bed behind him. “Maybe we can… do it? Again?”

Jonny’s punched stupid. Of all the things. He wants to get angry at Kaner, ask him if he knows what’s gonna happen. Fuck. Of course he does. They will—And—

It’s hot and shivery inside his chest, and when he says, “Yeah, maybe,” it comes out soft and too unsteady. 

Kaner searches his face for a short moment, but long enough to send shivers all along Jonny’s spine, enough to make him clench his jaw so he doesn’t squirm. 

“Okay,” Kaner says. “Okay.

He puts the remote beside him. After a pause where he fiddles with his fingers in his shirt, he pulls it off, throws it at his bag.

Jonny could just cover him up right now, with his body. Get in there and kiss him.

Fuck.

“Who do you think’s gonna win?” Kaner says as he gets settled against his own pillows, gesturing to the TV.

Jonny doesn’t know, says, “Wait and see, I guess,” and keeps his eyes on the TV this time.

 

 

** ——— VIII ——— **

 

 

“Okay,” Jonny says pulling on his tie while Kaner closes the door, puts the deadbolt on like he always does. Jonny grabs the remote on the desk. “There’s a fishing documentary on tonight and we’re watching it.”

Kaner throws him a glare. “Unless that documentary is called Deadliest Catch, no we’re not.”

Jonny’s fingers tighten on the remote. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

It’s a terrible opening line, but it gets his point across, because Kaner’s head snaps up from where he was unbuttoning his shirt and he stares at Jonny. His hair’s a mess. Jonny wants to put his fingers in it and this is a terrible, horrible idea.

It’s his fault, too. After last time, Kaner never brought the subject of doing this up again. He might have been waiting on Jonny. Who knows. Jonny felt like the ball, somehow, was in his court, and he wasn’t gonna do anything about it. He wasn’t. But now he’s here, hand sweaty around the remote and it’s exactly like before, except not. 

It’s worse.

He can’t _not_ think about it, now. About everything.

“It’s on,” Kaner says, and it sounds like a question to Jonny, in the breathless, nervous way it comes out that makes Kaner clear his throat. 

“It’s on,” Jonny says.

He puts the remote on the desk, has to turn away to pull his tie off, shrug off his jacket, get started on his shirt—all things he’s done dozens of times in situations just like this one. He’s already sweating. He’s already half-hard. 

Shoes off. Socks and belt, fingers shaking on his zipper. He curls his bare toes against the carpet to stave off the tension in his legs, all bunched up in his thighs, to just—flee, make an excuse, fuck off. Do the sensible thing.

But he catches the sight of Kaner’s bare shoulder out of the corner of his eye and he stays.

Jonny’s just done taking off his pants, dropping them on the desk chair beside him, when Kaner hooks him around the waist with his arm. He’s wrenched back, only has the quick reflex of grabbing the remote before he’s falling into Kaner’s chest. Their feet tangle together and they stumble, Kaner catching himself fast, widening his legs for balance, while trying to throw Jonny on the bed.

Kaner’s fucking strong, is the thing, Jonny’s learned that the hard way on a few occasions. He’s got thick arms and wide shoulders, and is pretty fucking difficult to move if he decides he doesn’t want to be moved. Jonny knows this about him, about how he’ll throw his weight into it, keep himself grounded solid and use all his upper body strength.

Jonny has a half-second thought of letting him do it—sprawl Jonny on his back on the bed and climb over him to restrain him. Jonny’s one-hundred percent certain that’s Kaner’s game plan. Can see the moves happening in his head.

But, really, where’s the fun in that.

He switches the remote from his left hand to his right, quick as he can, and gets his hand on Kaner’s bicep, pushing roughly to try and dislodge his grip on him, while at the same time he bucks against the momentum, trying to land on his ass on the bed instead of flat on his back.

It works, but he’s not as close as he thought he was to the bed. His ass hits the edge, but he bounces off, slips, and lands heavy on the floor, instead. 

“Ow, fuck, Jesus Christ,” he says, dull pain coming up his tailbone and up his spine

Kaner laughs above him, takes a few steps away, hands on his knees, and Jonny scowls at him. A flush is already spreading over his shoulders, nipples peaked and pink and Jonny’s stomach twists at this, the sudden realization that he notices things like that about Kaner. Notices the wild curls drooping over his forehead and the width of this thighs. Notices how it makes his own dick harder, something big sparking in his core. 

He doesn’t even try to get up, just watches as Kaner comes in front of him and kneels, straddles Jonny’s thighs—his lap—one smooth, hot move.

“Well, that was fucking quick,” he says with a smile, hand on Jonny’s shoulder to steady himself, leaning in to grab the remote from Jonny.

Kaner’s fingers are soft. He still smells like soap and shampoo.

Jonny throws the remote on the bed behind him and punches Kaner on the chin in the process. On accident.

“Fuck!” he says, hands going up to his face as he sits on Jonny’s knees. He’s stiff, too. It’s a relief, somehow.

“Sorry,” Jonny says, more winded than he feels.

Kaner glares at him, works his jaw from side to side like Jonny threw him a right hook or something. Ridiculous. And all Jonny wants in one bright rush of a moment is to straighten up, take that chin in his own hand and dip his tongue in Kaner’s mouth.

He sees the moment Kaner’s eyes focus on the remote and Jonny only has one quick heartbeat to react, to catch Kaner around the waist with his arms as he lunges over him, tries to climb on the bed to get to it.

He pulls hard on Kaner to bring him down, but Kaner resists by bracing himself on the bed and they get stuck like that. Jonny’s arms around Kaner and his face in the hollow of Kaner’s left hip, his dick poking Jonny’s chin and neck.

He should let go, should pull away. This is exactly what was gonna happen, why Jonny can’t—He _knew_.

He feels the tension inside Kaner, the tremor in his legs, the way he goes rigid, but instead of letting go, Jonny just holds on to him more, tilts his face up, further from Kaner’s dick and over the soft skin of his stomach.

He wants to rub his face all over it. Kaner smells good, feels perfect on Jonny’s skin. It takes him a moment to realize that Kaner’s not the only one shaking, and Jonny’s never been this tight inside, this close to letting it snap.

He could fucking cry with it, how it feels, all gnarled inside of him just begging to be released. But he won’t and he can’t and he holds on tighter. 

He can’t _stop_. Can’t stop thinking. If he pulled back a little he could slip Kaner’s boxers over his dick and just—suck. On it. Suck his dick. Let Kaner slide in, gentle-like, maybe. Soft. But hard, too. It’d be—It’d be—

Jonny turns his head, lips dragging over Kaner’s abs, and it actually hurts to not purse them, pinching them between his teeth instead and biting. He dips his chin in, rests his forehead on the waistband of Kaner’s underwear.

He gives himself three breaths—one, two, three, _fuck_ , four, five—and just… nudges, leans, more like, carefully just settle his cheek there, right against Kaner’s dick. 

It twitches and Kaner jerks in Jonny’s arms, says, “fuck,” on a shaky exhale that Jonny feels in his hair. 

It’s solid and warm and it’s—it’s too strained. Inside of him. Jonny’s gonna break and—

Kaner taps his shoulder. “Okay,” he says. “Let go, now.”

Jonny does immediately, arms falling to his sides like they’d been heavy and tied up and now the rope’s been cut—dull sound when his hands hit the carpet. 

It’s easier to breathe this way, when Kaner cants his hips away from Jonny’s face, even if he’s not moving yet, taking a long time to do anything, in fact. Long enough that Jonny tilts his head back, neck braced on the edge of the bed to look up at him.

Kaner looks back, eyes wide and dark. Lips red, front teeth digging into the lower one. He’s got faint freckles on his nose and he might be about to kiss Jonny.

Jonny thinks, yeah, he might be about to be kissed. And it’s—it’s—He blinks and hopes Kaner doesn’t. Really hopes Kaner doesn’t.

It’s a wild thought in his head, an incessant buzz through the pounding of his own heart, loud and fast at his temples. If Kaner kisses him now, if he closes the space between them, Jonny knows with absolute clarity that he will push him away. Everything will snap wrong.

It is absolutely terrifying and please please please don’t—Kaner, don’t.

Kaner doesn’t. He licks his lips, blinks, then smiles, a quick quirk of his lips. “Guess you win,” he says.

“Boom,” Jonny says, quick, by rote—happy, so strangely happy it didn’t go where it might have gone—and watches as Kaner’s whole face crinkles with a smile.

“Asshole.” He gives Jonny’s cheek two light slaps before, finally, pulling back. Off. Away. Finally letting Jonny take in air that feels cool and fresh and not filled with the scents of soap and skin and—groin, musk, dick, whatever. 

It’s only once they’re both on their beds, arranged the way they like on their respective pillows that Jonny asks.

“Is that what you wanted?” He turns the remote in his hand and points it at the TV, finger on the power button.

“Yeah,” Kaner says, soft, but clear, and Jonny turns his head so he can see him.

Kaner shrugs. His hand is big and solid where it’s laying on his stomach, right where Jonny had his face earlier.

Jonny nods, swallows, and says, “Okay,” feeling looser inside, but still jittery, still hard between the legs.

Kaner nods at the TV. “Let’s see this fishing documentary, then. At least I’ll get an early night.”

Jonny turns the TV on. “Ha-ha-ha. Don’t worry,” he says, switching to ESPN. “I lied.”

 

 

** ——— IX ——— **

 

 

It doesn’t feel like giving up. It doesn’t, but Jonny wonders if maybe Kaner will think… but no. When he looks up, when he opens his eyes and sees Kaner it looks like maybe Kaner’s there already—got there before him.

“You’re making this easy,” Kaner says, eyes searching Jonny’s face. Jonny’s on his back on the bed and Kaner’s over him, knees on each side of Jonny’s hips, hands squeezing the underside of Jonny’s biceps, keeping him there. Jonny’s not even holding on to the remote anymore. It’s… somewhere. It doesn’t matter. Maybe has never mattered.

The room’ bright, sun spilling from the hotel windows, hitting the side of Kaner’s face. It makes the spit on his lips shine and Jonny can’t look away from that, the tiny shadow of his tongue poking behind.

“I’m tired,” he says, and he is, but isn’t, too. Not like that. He doesn’t know how to explain. His breathing gets faster. He’s already heavy between his legs.

He… shouldn’t. But he wants it and it’s here, he thinks, that moment, it’s here and he’s not ready but he wants it anyway.

It’s the gentleness that does it. The way Kaner frowns and then pinches his lips together, sits back on his heels, on Jonny’s thighs, hands sliding soft over Jonny’s arms to his pecs. He doesn’t put force into it, just moves them over Jonny’s skin. Warm and dry, fingers wide. It’s... a caress. It’s—Jonny’s skin prickles, heart beating fast in his throat.

Jonny has to look at Kaner’s hands on him and follow the line of them to his wrists, his arms, his shoulders. Just to make sure. Make sure it’s Kaner’s hands touching him like that, like—Not like he usually does.

Jonny grabs the covers, muscles going rigid in his legs and abs. He should pull away, get out from under Kaner’s touch, now moving to Jonny’s ribs, his waist. He should, but. But Kaner’s hands are open over him like he’s trying to take the measure of Jonny’s body with the width of them. Two. Thumb-to-thumb across his sternum. They move every time Jonny breathes.

Kaner slides down, knees dragging on the comforter until they’re outside Jonny’s thighs. Jonny can’t see his face like this, with his chin tucked in. He can’t miss how hard Jonny is already, has been for a while. He’s seen Jonny like that before, but it’s not the same at all. Not now.

The first time they did it—the wrestling for it, he means, not this, not what Jonny thinks they’re about to do—they were bored and frustrated after a bad game. A bad series of games, actually. Jonny grabbed Kaner, his hands just below Kaner’s ribcage, thumbs pressing into his abs. So similar to now. There was something about it, about the shape and weight of Kaner between his hands, and how Jonny felt him gasp at that moment, whole chest moving inside his grip. Jonny got—thick. Not just hard. Sluggish in his dick because all the heat there, the heftiness of it.

It feels the same now but a thousand times worse as well. His dick twitches, fattens in his underwear. Kaner sees. He knows Kaner sees. There was only ever pretending _not_ to see or care.

Maybe he should have kept on doing… that. The pretending. But then, Kaner says, “Fuck,” and Jonny’s surprised he’s heard it with the buzzing in his ears, blood pumping fast. Kaner raises a knee over Jonny’s thigh and pushes on the inside of it, little nudges against the muscle. Jonny opens up for him, like—fast, just like that and there’s room for Kaner between his legs where there wasn’t before.

It’s terrifying. 

He could be in the bathroom in three long steps.

Jonny’s throat is so thick, so clogged up he has to raise himself on his elbows, take big open-mouthed intakes of air. He slides back onto the pillows, half propped up against the headboard, ass and groin so weighty the edge of his briefs catches on the covers and gets stuck, ends up halfway down his ass. He clenches hard. The whole thing’s about to fall off and he needs to stop it. 

Kaner let go of him. Jonny can still feel where his hands used to be.

“What—?” he says, swallows.

Kaner’s sitting on his heels, hands on his knees, and it’s only then Jonny realizes that it maybe looked like he was pulling away. And fuck, okay, he _was_ , but not—only because—

His legs are too open. Just spread wide, hard dick in the middle wanting to be free.

He bends his knees and closes them until he’s holding Kaner between them.

It’s hard to say what’s on Kaner’s face, but then it’s probably hard to say what’s on Jonny’s, too. He kinda hopes he just doesn’t look like—like he wants it. Desperate. Because he does. Fuck, he does. So much. Enough that he almost wants it to not be happening at all.

Their eyes lock for a moment, the blue of Kaner’s popping out unfairly in the sunlight and it’s ridiculous. He looks—But soon as it happens it’s gone because Kaner’s focus is back on his dick. Kaner wriggles to get Jonny to open his legs more and Jonny—Jonny once again just lets them fall open like it’s nothing, the weight of his knees falling to the sides pulling up his thighs like fucking arrows pointing to his groin. Touch here. Suck here. 

Kaner slides the backs of his fingers along the underside of Jonny’s thighs and grips the edge of his underwear, knuckles bumping there as he tugs. Tugs and tugs, but not hard, and Jonny can’t fucking move. Can’t lift his ass to help him, thinks he should maybe push down to hinder him, and so gets stuck not moving at all.

Kaner glances up. “Jonny...” he says, Jonny catching the word on the way his mouth forms it. And just like that Jonny lifts up and his underwear slides easy over the curve of his ass, stops below his balls. And then his dick’s out. Just—it’s there and hard and the head’s already past the foreskin, glistening wet at the tip in that goddamn light, like it’s been licked already. But it’s just leaking because Jonny wants this so much. He’s… easy, he thinks. Too eager for it. 

He stares at Kaner and Kaner stares at his dick and Jonny almost laughs because he’s not sure who’s winning the fucking staring contest, him or Kaner or the dick between them.

Having Kaner’s dick against his cheek before, that last time, the warmth and solidness of it even through Kaner’s boxers, Jonny’s jaw had ached with wanting to open up for it. The desire thick and sticky between his teeth. He’s thought about it a lot. It didn’t occur to him that maybe Kaner had thought about it too. 

Heat flashes through him at that, his eyes burning with it. In fact, it almost hurts to watch. Jonny has to blink several times. Because it looks like—He thinks that maybe—Maybe Kaner wants this. Too. As well. Wants Jonny. And part of him sorta knew this, or wanted it to be true—when he allowed himself to think about it anyway—but it’s different now, crisp and sharp, when Kaner dips in and gives the head of Jonny’s dick a good, wide, wet swipe of his tongue.

Jonny fucking _jerks_. Whole body spasming at the touch, already so tensed, and he’s going to feel it tomorrow. His ears ring with the _ah!_ he couldn’t stop. His stomach coils even tighter than before.

Kaner licks his lips, stares at Jonny’s dick. One of his hands lifts, but then goes back to Jonny’s thigh, lifts again, unsure how to touch. Jonny inhales deeply. Holds it in. He doesn’t know what to say. He thinks he might say please. He’s scared it’ll come out as don’t. 

“Close your eyes if it’s...” Kaner shrugs, slides his hands in until they’re framing Jonny’s dick. Jonny clenches his ass hard to stop himself from squirming at his short, trimmed pubes. Like maybe he wanted—Like he’d prepared for—But Kaner just rubs over it with his fingertips and opens his mouth around the head.

And yeah, yeah Jonny could close his eyes, could pretend it’s a girl sucking his dick, now. A mouth is a mouth and all that. But that wouldn’t be… fair. To Kaner. It’s not like Kaner can pretend it isn’t a dick he’s sucking on right now. Besides, Jonny doesn’t want to. Pretend. Even though he wishes he did.

So he watches. Eyes half-closed and burning. And it twists inside him, the way Kaner’s going about it, more than the feeling of his mouth tight around him—sloppy, drooling along Jonny’s shaft. It mangles everything inside of him to see Kaner do this. Willingly. The sun hitting his blond hair, a flush over his shoulders, hands still framing the base of Jonny’s dick, using his elbows to keep his legs open for him. 

He’s not pressing down. Jonny could fuck up so easily, slide in so good. He could—

Kaner takes too much, chokes himself and comes back up. He coughs, glares at Jonny’s dick, clears his throat, chin all messy with spit.

It’s a fucking sight. 

He holds Jonny’s foreskin off the head with his fingers instead of moving it up and down and it feels—He’s not good at it, Kaner, not terrible, but. Not good. Jonny’s hot for it all the same. Couldn’t pretend he wasn’t even if he tried. Or wanted to. Doesn’t know if he wants to anymore.

Kaner’s red across his nose and trying to hide it from Jonny, tilting his head in. He licks with the tip of his tongue right under Jonny’s cockhead. Tries to make Jonny feel good, and Jonny has no idea how to tell him that it doesn’t fucking matter. That he’s—

He lets go of the covers, stretching his stiff fingers so he can reach Kaner’s head. He goes at it carefully in case he’s not allowed to. In case Kaner doesn’t want him to. As careful as Kaner was earlier when he slides his fingers through Kaner’s hair.

Kaner goes still, lips soft and glistening over Jonny’s slit. 

Jonny’s breathing is too shallow. He wants to hold it in but can’t because it’s too fast and he can’t quite catch it, but it feels like he should. Should make this moment last longer, stretch it out, with his fingers in Kaner’s kind of dirty hair. His hand shakes. Kaner’s scalp is sweaty, the shell of his ear warm under Jonny’s thumb, his mouth still open on his dick. Jonny tucks a stray curl behind Kaner’s ear. It’s—It’s—

Kaner groans, sudden and loud, drags his mouth on Jonny’s dick, lips catching on the skin, and leans his forehead low on Jonny’s stomach, face in the crease of his thigh. Jonny’s sweaty there. He thinks of what it must smell like, nose against his balls like that. Of what Kaner would smell like. He lets his hand fall back on the bed. 

He’s still so hard. Fuck.

Kaner starts—kissing. Soft sticky presses of his lips on Jonny’s cock, low on his stomach, each one like a small electric shock in Jonny’s core. His dick fucking _drips_. Jonny didn’t know he could get this wet.

Kaner wips his forehead on Jonny’s skin. “I hate you,” he mumbles. “I hate you, I hate you.” Jonny can barely hear it but he feels the tiny vibrations in his balls, and his dick jumps at that, more precome leaking on his abs. 

He’s heard that before. They’ve been like this before. 

And last time Kaner had left after this, took his place back in his own bed and they’d both pretended nothing weird had happened. Jonny’s heart jumps up in fear, at the thought of being left like this, naked and hard with no space for pretend. Of having to put his erection back in his underwear and act like he didn’t want it so bad. 

Kaner does move away, but not to the other bed. Jonny follows him with his eyes as he slides under Jonny’s knee and drops beside him on the bed, face hidden in Jonny’s side. He throws an arm over Jonny’s belly, dragging the sticky precome under it over his abs, and holds him.

“Sorry,” he says. “I can’t—”

Jonny splays his fingers on Kaner’s back. Kaner is hot along his body, and when Jonny stretches his leg out, Kaner’s dick is hard still against it. Jonny can’t help it, he rubs at the bulge, tiny tight movements of his leg that Kaner soon joins, hips falling into the rhythm, easy.

They stay like that. With Jonny’s dick out and hard and still wet with Kaner’s spit, getting cold in the air because of it. With Kaner holding on to him, rubbing one out slow on Jonny’s leg. 

Kaner always pushes. Pushes at. Pushes through. Whatever. 

Kaner had a dick in his mouth. Jonny’s dick. Sucking on it. Maybe it’s a lot. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe—Kaner moans, wraps his leg over Jonny’s thigh to get better friction, and Jonny lets him, hitches his leg up to get at him better. 

Jonny’s watching the top of Kaner’s head, the way sunlight flits over it and how he keeps rubbing his nose into Jonny’s side, so he doesn’t miss the glance that Kaner throws his way.

“Shit,” Kaner says, closing his eyes. “Can’t look at your face.”

Jonny snorts, surprising himself. “Fuck you.” 

He feels more than sees the smile on his ribs. The tangled mess inside him goes a little liquid along his spine when Kaner takes Jonny’s hand and brings it to Jonny’s dick, wraps his fingers around it. He only lets go when Jonny catches on, tightens his grip and gives a tug.

It fucking zings through him so fast he twitches. Kaner grinds harder on his leg, hums low in his throat.

From this angle, Jonny can see Kaner’s mouth. Can’t stop shooting glances at it. It’s like before, not puffy like it’d be if he’d sucked Jonny longer, like Jonny’s imagined sometimes, but just as red, just as wet because he keeps licking at it, biting at it. 

Jonny’s dick was in it. 

He watches Kaner watching Jonny’s hand, jerking off. It’s… something good. But embarrassing. Too aware of everything he’d do if he was alone. Like—like pinching his foreskin over the head and rubbing at it. Like sliding his hand between his legs to get at the good spot behind his balls. Stuff he’s always done. Pull on his sac. Roughen himself up.

But Kaner’s watching and Jonny’s hand is going faster and he can’t do any of it. Hot everywhere anyway, full body shiver when Kaner stretches his fingers out from where they are on Jonny’s thigh to touch Jonny’s balls. 

It's getting too dry. And like, Jonny doesn't need it as slick as some guys he knows. He's heard about it, how being cut makes it better when it's wetter and all, but he still prefers not going at it dry, likes having it a bit sticky under his hand. Messy. He needs to lick his hand.

Maybe he makes a sound, or maybe it looks wrong to Kaner or something, because Kaner takes Jonny’s wrist and pulls his hand off his dick and brings it to his mouth. He licks Jonny's hand, large, long wet lick across his palm, with his eyes fluttering closed and open again.

Messy. Yeah.

He curls Jonny’s fingers back around his dick when he’s done, jerks it with him a couple times, before settling his hand again on Jonny's thigh.

It’s crazy. Fucked up. It’s insane how that gets to Jonny, Kaner doing that, just licking his hand, the feel of his tongue over the delicate skin between his fingers, broad and deliberate. Everything’s strung up tighter once more. It shouldn’t get to him like that. It—does. It does. 

His hand goes faster.

“You gonna come, Taze?” Kaner says, voice hoarse, eyes flitting between Jonny’s hand and Jonny’s face. He gives a good grind of his hips, so hard and—like—like he wants—he wants it—gets off on it—wants Jonny to—wants him—and—yeah, yeah, yeah—

Jonny’s coming. Finally.

Eyes shut, with a long deep groan, whole throat unclogging instantly. He twists to the side at the force of it, the snapping inside him almost painful, coming out all over his stomach. Twists toward Kaner who just rolls with him, arm clinging to Jonny’s middle. 

Kaner’s still hard-tight against his leg, still rolling into it. Jonny can barely move but—it’s hot, the line of Kaner along him and the way they’re tangled now.

Half-dazed with eyes half-closed he gets his hand in Kaner’s hair and tugs a little. “You too,” he says.

“Fuck.” Jonny feels Kaner’s tremble all over him. Feels it when he comes between them even in his boxers, jizz managing to come out of it, through the slit or at the top or—whatever. Feels it when Kaner licks at the jizz on Jonny’s sternum where he’s panting heavy and fast, face all squished and red.

Feels it when it gets cold. When it dawns on him. When the sharp panic in his chest returns because—He did—And Kaner—

He could be in the bathroom in three long steps.

Kaner pushes at him until Jonny rolls on his back, eyes stuck to the ceiling. He can’t look down. He knows what he’ll see—his chest and stomach and soft dick covered in jizz and his stupid messy underwear still stuck around his thighs. Kaner. Kaner’s there, too.

Until he isn’t. Until he’s pulling himself up the bed with a low groan like it’s a huge effort. Until his head’s on Jonny’s shoulder.

His hand hovers above Jonny’s chest for a moment, his fingers curling into a fist then uncurling. He finally puts it on Jonny’s solar plexus, flat and soft and almost shy about it. “I’m not moving,” he says.

Jonny thinks it’s supposed to come out certain, determined, but Kaner’s voice wobbles, has a lilt at the end like a question, and it’s that more than anything else that makes Jonny stop thinking about the bathroom and how not far it is. He breathes in. Kaner’s hand rises as his chest fills. He breathes out, and feels air on his shoulder where Kaner’s mouth is, like he’s exhaling too.

It’s—it’s nice. He raises his hand to—he doesn’t know, hold Kaner’s, maybe, but he doesn’t, just brushes the back of it with his fingers before putting it back on the bed beside him, clenching the covers. Hard. Holding on, maybe. 

He should leave. He doesn’t—He should—

He stays.

“I don’t want you to,” he says. And it’s—It’s true. He brings Kaner closer to him with his arm to make sure he understands.

“Good.”

He reaches out, pats the bed until he finds it. Kaner adjusts himself against his side, settles in more comfortably, fist sliding to Jonny’s stomach. Three steps it would be. But. 

But it’s good. He wants it. This. He does.

Jonny turns the TV on. He stays.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in my note at the beginning, I deleted my hockey tumblr. I did keep the URL in a sideblog though. You can [contact me there](http://apenelopiad.tumblr.com/ask) through ask or messaging (if you have a question, want to point out some mistakes in the story, wanna ask about podficcing, etc). Anon is not on because I don't want to publish anything, therefore every conversations will remain private.


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